Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
He’s breathing hard, like he just finished running a mile. His gaze darts left and right, and his hand flashes to his waist like he’s reaching for a weapon.
“Isaak?” I whisper timidly.
His eyes shoot to me, and only then does some of the tension release from his body. “Oh. Hey.” He tries to relax more, but I can see how much of an effort it takes. “How long was I out?”
“A couple hours.”
“Damn.” He stands up and stretches, his arms going up and behind his head. It makes his shirt ride up and exposes a small patch of skin right above his jeans, revealing the V that I know so very well. I’ve licked along it, right down those sharp lines cutting straight to his—
“I gotta take a leak,” he says abruptly, tugging his shirt back down.
Horror movie rules are starting to feel like a moot point by now. The stalker hasn’t escalated again and seems more like an intimidate-from-the-shadows kind of dude.
“End of the hall.” I wave a hand. “I take it you don’t need an escort at this point.”
He glares at me, and I glare at him back.
“Some of us have actual work to do.” I point at the essays.
He sneers and shakes his head, then turns and pushes through the door. “Back in a few.”
I make a face at the closed door behind him, then imitate him in a mocking, low-pitched voice, “Back in a few. I’m a macho man and I’m so special. I’m a special, special macho man.”
I look down at the papers on my desk and try to focus. The ChatGPT paper fell a little askew when I dropped it earlier, just enough to see the paper underneath it. Several words jump off the page of the essay below. WHORE!CUNT!
My hands shake as I shove the top essay to the side and lift out the one underneath. The whole thing is typed in something like Courier New font. My eyes skim across the first few lines.
Professor Kira is a cunt. We all talk about how we could hold her down and fuck her up the ass. I got some zip ties at the hardware store, and me and my buddies could snatch her when she’s walking back to her car after class. Then we’d—
I drop the paper and then wipe my hands on my skirt. Ugh, god, my stalker touched it.
A knock on the door makes me let out a little shriek. I twist to see who it is, every muscle tightened when I see one of my students standing there.
His oily brown curly hair falls in his face as he looms in the doorway.
“Hey, Professor Roberts. I’ve been wanting to stop by. I had some questions about the exam today.”
“Phillip!” I say, half standing up. I swallow hard, craning a little to look over his shoulder. Where the hell is Isaak?
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the chair Isaak was just occupying. “I’m surprised to see you.”
He starts to close the door, but I put out a hand. “Oh, you can leave it open.”
“I was really hoping to talk to you. In private,” he finishes, closing the door, thumb pressing down on the lock button as he does. He stands in front of the now-locked door. “That big guy’s always lurking around you.”
This little shit. Is he seriously trying to trap me in my own office? To intimidate me? Yeah, it might be dark out, but that’s only because it’s five-thirty on a Thursday. There’s still one day left of final’s week. People are still around… probably. And Isaak will be back any second.
“It’s university policy to leave the door open when having a conference with a student.” I stand up all the way and pull my cardigan tighter, trying to establish dominance like I do in the classroom, even though my heart is beating a mile a minute.
Phillip’s a sweet kid. Okay, maybe he’s a little bit of an asshole, but lots of college kids are finding themselves at his age. He’s just a freshman and harmless, really—
“I want to talk to you in private!” he says with more vehemence. “Why won’t anybody fucking listen when I say things? I just want you to fucking listen!”
I lift a hand to try to calm him down. “Okay, okay. Why don’t you have a seat like I said and then we can talk.” I hope he doesn’t notice the tremor in my voice or the fact that I’m shifting slightly so I’m by the bookcase now.
He looks at me suspiciously, his tall body still blocking the door. “You sit first.”
“Phillip,” I snap, trying more urgently to reassert my authority. I’ve gotten practice over the last two and a half years ever since I started being a TA and then teaching classes of my own. “Sit down if you want to talk. We’re in my office, so we play by my rules.”